wine red
by Nygmatech
Summary: Because demons are demons and reapers are reapers and Grell Sutcliff is definitely not an angel. Sebastian/Grell


wine red

Sometimes, Sebastian Michaelis thought privately, Ciel Phantomhive's station as the Queen's guard dog became quiet cumbersome for himself. Generally speaking, it was not _Ciel_ who was apprehending the criminals in question.

It was of no consequence, however. He lived to serve his master.

He caught another bullet between his fingers, watched as the bright green reaper eyes of James Moriarty narrowed in anger, and smiled to himself. The man's pistol was out—his Death Scythe, Sebastian guessed—and thus there was no longer a threat. He would—what? Wait for William T. Spears or one of his cohorts appeared to take him away?

No, no. He couldn't be quite that foolish. Perhaps is he could only—

There was a flash of something in the man's sleeve, a metallic _click_ and Sebastian had easily registered that there was no time to jump out of the way of the bullet—

There was a flash of red and black and he could felt something soft whipping across his face—the image would have been laughable, if it weren't so serious.

Red, bright red arterial blood was seeping into the gutter, and there stood the incompetent, the "help," the Madame's butler, standing over the body with a bloody chainsaw and a hand over his heart.

His mouth parted in some semblance of surprise, and he gazed forward at Sebastian—and let his hand fall from his chest, tainted red like the dark, indistinguishable stain spreading on the black butler's coat.

He fell to the ground, his long dark hair mingling with the red streaming into the gutter. Red, red, red. What a repulsive colour.

Sebastian took the liberty of lifting him off the street as Grell Sutcliff's ringed green eyes slid shut behind his circular spectacles.

He was cool to the touch, as though he has just been dipped in freezing water, and his body was so light for his size—it was almost as if he were spun from the air itself.

Well. Nothing could surprise him much anymore. Demons were very hard to startle creatures, after all.

* * *

><p>Vaguely, as he looked upon the other butler's motionless form among the crimson satin sheets of his temporary bed in his temporary room for his temporary stay at Phantomhive Manor—Sebastian felt the need to emphasise this—he wondered if Grell could be an angel.<p>

He was—pretty enough, for lack of a better word, with his plain, feminine face and long, dark hair, though Sebastian vaguely recalled that all angels he had ever met had been ash-white haired, so unlike this injured man before him.

But then, Sebastian had only ever met two angels in his lifetime. It was fairly possible that Grell Sutcliff was the anomaly.

It would, then, explain quite suitably the fact that his chest didn't move with even the faintest breathing.

He could have been dead, if he were not only sleeping.

(Sebastian finds it a quite wonderful description. Or perhaps he could have been only sleeping if he were not dead? As of current, Sebastian wasn't entirely sure.)

* * *

><p>Madame Red brought things around on the third day—a red silk dressing gown, a red bow for his hair, a candy-striped red and white tie of sorts, and a plain black butler uniform.<p>

"But it's so plain!" she complained as she held the uniform in her hands. "I always thought he looked better in red," she finishes off, a trace of triumph and fondness in her voice that made Sebastian's lip curl.

She slid her arms out of the sleeves of her precious red coat and laid it across her butler.

"There! That's much better! Doesn't he look dashing in red, Sebastian darling?"

Sebastian hummed. Red, red, red. Red like the blood staining the bandages on Grell's torso he kept having to replace. He was starting to remember exactly why he hated the colour.

"Of course, Madame."

* * *

><p>The first time he found Grell awake, the man was sitting up in bed, red silk of the dressing gown cascading over his thin form, his head turned to the window.<p>

"Mister Sutcliff?"

The other butler jumped, looked back at him with an almost reproachful glare, before the expression melted into a much more accommodating one.

"M-Mister Sebastian… I-I… w-what happened, I can't quite…" he trailed off, red sheets clenched in his delicate hands with their spindly little fingers. They, like the rest of him, almost looked like they'd break at the slightest touch.

His eyes flickered down, away from Sebastian's face, and his cheeks flushed with colour.

Funny, Sebastian thought in detachment.

"Do you require anything, Mister Sutcliff? I will be preparing morning tea for the young lord in the hour, or shall I bring you something before that?"

Funny, he didn't remember Grell's eyes being quite so green.

The fragile, angel-fair man took a shuddering breath, as if the act of breathing was something he wasn't quite useful, and mumbled down to the sheets, "no. No, that's fine."

Sebastian placed a hand to his heart and bowed in all the same fashion he did with his master. "Very well. Do not hesitate to call if you need anything, Mr. Sutcliff. I assure you I will hear."

Grell nodded, his pale cheeks still flushed with colour. "Alright," he said softly. "Alright, I'll do that."

* * *

><p>"Grell Sutcliff is not human," Sebastian stated matter-of-factly, and the woman before him looked up, almost startled. The corners of her red-painted lips quirked up in somewhat of a smile.<p>

"You're one to talk, Mister Michaelis," Madame Red said, her voice sickly sweet with poison. "No. No, he is not. And you needed me to confirm this?"

"You know him the most intimately."

"Ah," she said, and her dried-blood eyes glinted in something that might have been amusement, "I dearly suspect that won't be the case for much longer… Sebastian."

Sebastian brushed this off in the highest disregard. "That is not important to me, Madame. What is important is what he _is_. Surely, if I knew, I could heal him more effect-"

Madame Red laughed, a flash of perfect white teeth between her scarlet-painted lips. "If I told you, there would be no fun left in the game!" she insisted, and her smile formed into something more pleasant. "Ask him," she pressed. "Ask him to show you."

An upward quirk of Sebastian's left eyebrow, and Madame laughed again—"oh, would you look at the time! I have to run, I'm afraid. Give my Grelly a kiss for me, Sebastian darling!"

* * *

><p>He changed Grell's bandages again, fairly certain that the man shouldn't have been able to so much as sit up with the blood loss. The dark-haired butler sat stalk-still under Sebastian's hands, grimacing in pain and shook his head at Sebastian's apologies.<p>

"It's fine," he insisted, voice quiet and fragile. "Hey, if I can feel it at least I know that I'm alive, right?" he added, green eyes bright as they connected with Sebastian's own red ones, before Grell flushed a little pink and turned away.

"S-sorry…"

This man, Sebastian decided, was too pure to be a demon. He would continue to refer to him as an angel in his thoughts, at least until proven otherwise.

* * *

><p>"Is there anything else you require, Mr. Sutcliff?" Sebastian asked patiently, and set the teapot back on the silver tray as Grell stared into his untouched cup.<p>

"Yes," he said, voice almost hesitant, and he glanced very quickly over at Sebastian, and then back into his teacup, red painting his cheeks again.

"Call me Grell. Please. I-It feels too formal, w-when you call me Sutcliff. A-and we're friends, right? Right? Friends call eachother by their first names!"

By now, his face was an impossible shade of red, contrasting quite well with his dark, dark hair and ringed emerald eyes.

Sebastian paused, and bowed to the man. "As you wish… Grell."

He could have almost sworn he heard a squeak issue from Grell's mouth at the utterance of his name, and the corners of Sebastian's lips curled up in a smirk. He turned to collect the tea tray, and shut the door softly after him as he exited.

There was something genuinely intriguing about the man, and for a second, he almost wanted to relay the Madame's wishes—if only to see exactly how red he could get the man's face to go.

He dismissed the possibility, and ascended the stairs to serve his master's morning tea. Grell, of course, could wait.

* * *

><p>"Yes," Grell says unexpectedly, in response to his usual question. "Yes, I do require something else. Could…" and he almost looked hopeful at this, like a schoolgirl asking out her favoured male classmate, "could you braid my hair for me? I—it gets in an awful mess if I don't, and, well…" he trailed off, looking down at where the bandages rested under his plain white nightshirt. There was a spot of blood soaking the fabric already, and Sebastian noted that he would have to change the bandages again, despite the fact that it had been over two weeks and Grell was still bleeding.<p>

"Of course, Grell," he acknowledged stiffly, and as he cast his eye around the room, he settled on the vanity against the wall, and moved forward to pick up the sterling hairbrush Madame had brought. Only the best for her servants, she would remind Sebastian brightly everytime she brought something over for the man. In all honestly, Sebastian couldn't see why. Grell was incompetent at best, constantly dropping things, burning the tea... but, to each her own, he reasoned. There certainly was something _special_ about Grell Sutcliff, he couldn't deny that much.

In silence, he dragged the brush through the long black hair, much longer than would be accepted for a male, much longer even than any females Sebastian had ever known. But this, this was acceptable for Grell-it built on his so very feminine character and air of a damsel in distress.

The image of before came to mind here, of the chainsaw and shocked expression on the man's blood-adorned face as he dropped his hand from his heart. No. No. He might appear weak, harmless, pitiful-but at least part of that was a lie.

Grell did not need to be saved.

He tied the long braid off with a small red ribbon, and as if knowing that Sebastian would be gone in the next second, Grell leaned back against his chest and hummed in contentment.

He was almost like the stray cats Sebastian sometimes entertained. Rough around the edges and so used to being alone-but they all warmed up to _him_ in the end.

Grell had become another of his pets, and just like one of his cats, he would wait for Grell to come to him.

* * *

><p>"Why do you not heal yourself?" Sebastian asked patiently while gently peeling the bandages off of Grell's thin chest, the ugly open bullet wound over his heart marring whatever beauty his form might have held before.<p>

Grell's bright green eyes dulled, and the smile on his face was a little sad as he covered Sebastian's larger hand with his own, and brought it to the marred patch of flesh.

He pressed Sebastian's hand flat against the left of his chest, and let out a long, shuddering breath.

Sebastian's dark red eyes held a hint of curiosity as the skin sealed together and mended under his touch.

When Grell dropped his hand, the wound opened again, and Sebastian drew his own hand back, gaze almost pitying as he looked down upon the injured man.

"The damage from a soul reaper's scythe may never heal properly."

"You must be in exquisite pain," Sebastian murmured, and his eyes softened.

"It takes the edge off," Grell said, and his red, red lips contorted in a bitter smile.

* * *

><p>Sebastian could admit to almost relishing the feeling of Grell's long, dark hair under his fingers. It was awfully soft, just as the particular texture of a cat's fur.<p>

"I wouldn't expect a demon to be so gentle," Grell remarked coyly on one such evening, and Sebastian's hands stilled, a frown settling on his thin lips.

"I would not expect an angel to be so indulgent," Sebastian responded calmly, though to his surprise, Grell just laughed.

In all honesty, he wouldn't have imagined such a sound coming from the man. He was too... what, sad? Broken?

"An angel, _Sebas-chan?_ My, I don't know whether to be offended or pleased. You certainly know how to compliment a lady. But you know..."

And Grell had shifted on the bed to face Sebastian, whose hands fell from his hair. The rows of white shark's teeth were more visible than anything else in the dim light, and Sebastian was vaguely aware of a thin, feminine hand sliding up his leg in an almost seductive manner.

"Soul reaper."

"Then I suppose it's a good thing you demons don't have one," Grell retorted, voice quiet and low, that dastardly grin on his face, and before Sebastian had a chance to think or pull away, those razor-sharp teeth were grazing his bottom lip.

"You're hideous," Sebastian said without thinking, trying with all his might to concentrate on something _other_ than the teasing kisses the reaper was placing to the corners of his mouth.

At once, Grell had stopped, and drew back, looking wholly offended.

What Sebastian didn't expect, however, was the sharp slap across his cheeks and the icy note in Grell's voice.

"Get out. Get out now."

Sebastian complied, all too happily rising from the bed and hurrying out the room, closing the door softly behind himself.

The silence in the hallway was almost deafening, and Sebastian found himself as alone as ever.

* * *

><p>When he paused to consider the notion, Grell wasn't <em>really<em> ugly. It was more surprise than anything, and Sebastian had a sneaking sensation that the teeth weren't the only thing the soul reaper was hiding. Perhaps with a few... other changes, he could be quite pretty again, though Sebastian wouldn't deny missing that quiet, subdued feminine quality to him which had disappeared after the last encounter.

Obviously, the reaper was not his pet any longer. How could he, with that disposition?

(A good pet does not bite the hand that feeds it.)

Careful to keep the silver tray completely level as he opened the door, Sebastian kept his eyes dutifully trained away from where Grell would no doubt be sitting on the bed.

"I lied," he said casually, pouring a cup of tea that he know would grow cold exactly where he left it.

He straightened up, and this time looked at Grell full on, the monster lounging naked amongst his red satin sheets. His glasses were changed to thinner, red-framed lenses matching precisely what Sebastian assumed what his real hair colour.

"If anything, _Grell_," he continued quite casually, removing his tailcoat and loosening his tie, "you are a monster. Beautiful and frightening. Why, you simply look like you'd want nothing more than to tear my heart right out of my chest."

Sebastian's smile was perfectly charming, and Grell simply raised one scarlet eyebrow, sitting up so that the sheet slid down into his lap, crimson hair spilling over the bed like James Moriarty's blood into the gutter.

"I thought demons didn't have hearts," was the cool retort, and Sebastian's smile did not lessen as he moved in towards the bed, pausing to pull his gloves off with his teeth, dropping them unceremoniously onto the floor.

"Not literally, of course," he replied sweetly, visage all calm and cool and sex appeal. "But figuratively... I suppose we'll have to see."

Grell's lips parted to show his shark-toothed grin, and this time it really did suit him.

"Then," he said, drawing out the words and making a small motion for Sebastian to join him, "I suppose we'll have to... try that again."

"Oh dear," said Sebastian, tone dangerous and almost careless as he shed his shirt. "I seem to be having trouble with the removal of my trousers."


End file.
